Hero Worship
by TrinityC
Summary: "Of all my companions, I think I'm most in awe of Legolas..." The smallest Hobbit finds someone to look up to.


Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. Written for love, not money.

Author's Note: Thanks, first and foremost, to Laiqalasse, for making me think very hard about just how different Legolas is from the rest of the Fellowship, and for pointing out (in her excellent fic "Cat") what it is Legolas reminds Pippin of. And for not complaining that I'd stolen her idea when I sent this to her! Thanks also to Becki, for loving Pip as much as I do, and putting up with me bouncing random plotbunnies at her all day for feedback!

This is for those of you who liked the Pippin and Legolas interaction in "The Elf and the Warrior"; it's the first of an occasional series looking at the friendship that (in my little AU, at least) develops between the smallest Hobbit and the Prince of Mirkwood on the quest to destroy the One Ring.

**Hero Worship**

When I think about it, which isn't often, because it makes me nervous, I realise that never in all my days would I have expected to come on an adventure like this. In the Shire, you are born, you spend your childhood making trouble for your elders, you come of age and become one of those elders yourself, then you marry, have lots of little Hobbit-lads and Hobbit-lasses, and then you spend your twilight years in the Green Dragon, drinking ale and going on about how much better things were in your young days. I hadn't really begun to think about it, but I suppose that was what I'd expected my life to be like. Yet now, here I am trekking across Middle-Earth on a quest of deadly importance with my two cousins, my cousin's gardener, a gruff but kindly Dwarf, the son of the Steward of Gondor, the Elven Prince of Mirkwood, an immensely powerful Wizard, and the lost Heir of Isildur, the King of Men. I haven't even come of age yet.

I think the others have forgotten that I'm still really just a child. I hope they keep forgetting it, because otherwise they wouldn't have allowed me to come and they'd have left me behind in Rivendell, to be sent back to the Shire like an unwanted parcel. But whether they've forgotten or not, they still talk to me as though I'm a child. It's probably because I'm the smallest and silliest of us, always doing stupid things, but it's not just Gandalf who reserves his schoolmaster tone especially for me.

They all do it. All except Legolas. I haven't worked out why yet, but he's the only one who always speaks to me as an equal. Even Merry doesn't do that all the time, but then he's been as good as my big brother all my life, so I don't really expect it from him. But Legolas, he treats us all the same. Maybe because we're all like children to him. He's very distant most of the time, but when he does speak to you, you listen, because you know it must be very important. The only people he's a bit more informal with are Gandalf and Aragorn, but I think he's known them for a very long time. It's funny to think that he's thousands of years old because he certainly doesn't look it. It only shows in his eyes.

Of all my companions, I think I'm most in awe of Legolas. I'd heard of Elves, of course. Growing up on Bilbo's stories, I couldn't really help it. But I'd always thought of them as just another kind of Big People. It never occurred to me how different they would be. I'd never met one, after all. Funnily enough, it wasn't in Rivendell that I noticed it. There were so many of them, and Frodo was so ill, that I was too overwhelmed to see it. It was only later, after the Fellowship set out, that I began to realise that Legolas wasn't just another Big Person, he was something else entirely.

From the moment we set out, it was so obvious that he wasn't the same as Boromir and Aragorn, for all that he is a warrior like them. He even moves differently, smoothly and swiftly, and utterly silent. And then sometimes he'll just stop, all motion suspended, and look around, and you know that he can hear the smallest rustling of the birds in the trees hundreds of yards away, and he can see the tiniest movement far away into the distance. And then, as sudden and fast as lightning, he'll have his bow out, an arrow nocked and released straight to his target, all in the blink of an eye. I'll never get tired of seeing that. Nor will I stop being jealous that I'll never be able to do it. For a start, where would I find a small enough bow?

It took me a while to work out what it is he reminds me of. I was watching him when we'd stopped to eat. Everybody else was sitting around with their lunch, but Legolas was sitting on a rock, his knees drawn up, staring off into the distance, perfectly still but ready to spring into motion in a split second. And I thought to myself, that's just like my grandmother's cat. She used to look just like that when she was waiting for a mouse to come out of its hole, and then as soon as it poked so much as a whisker out, she was onto it. I always felt rather sorry for the mice, and now I made myself a promise never to make Legolas angry with me. 

He has a wicked sense of humour too, although he almost never shows it. I plucked up the courage to mention it to him, after he'd said something particularly clever and witty about Dwarves, and he said he'd learned from a master, the lord Glorfindel who came and rescued Frodo from the Black Riders. I said that Glorfindel had seemed far too grand to make jokes and Legolas laughed and promised to introduce me to him, after all this was over. I didn't really know how to answer that. Imagine, the Prince of Mirkwood making a promise to introduce the silliest Hobbit the Shire ever produced to the hero of Gondolin who slew the Balrog and came back to life. 

Most of the time, though, Legolas is rather melancholy. That's one thing I do remember about the Elves in Rivendell, they all seemed rather sad. Perhaps it's that they know their time is over. That must be a terrible thing to have to bear. So I try to be extra nice to him and sometimes, I think, it works for a little while and he relaxes and lets his sadness go just a little.

One thing he does delight in is his weapons. His bow and quiver are his pride and joy; he very rarely takes them off. And as for his white knives...they are breathtakingly beautiful, Elven crafted with ivory handles and long, wickedly sharp engraved steel blades. I should consider myself very lucky indeed if I had a blade such as those. He is just as skilled with the knives as with the bow, although I have not yet seen him with them in battle. Still, the other day when we were resting, all of us lying about on the ground, Aragorn was teasing him about his pride in his skill, calling him a showoff. I hate to think what Legolas would have done if it had been any of the others of us, but I think he and Aragorn have been friends for a very long time, and he will accept things from Strider that he would never take from the rest of us. This time he just smiled, and said that if one is good at something one should consider it one's duty to show it to those who are less skilled, so that they may learn from it. And he drew both the knives, twisting them in his hands and flourishing them before him. Strider applauded but he ignored him, beginning to spin the knives in his hands. I was almost mesmerised by the movement of the knives, so much so that I was completely taken by surprise when Legolas spun as quick as lightning and brought the knives down in a final flourish to point right at my throat. I didn't dare move. Aragorn said something about how at least I was impressed, and Legolas laughed and sheathed his knives, leaning down to ruffle my hair. I reminded myself again never to make this Elf angry with me.

I often find myself watching Legolas as we walk, and when we are resting. Never let it be said that a Hobbit was too busy eating to appreciate a thing of beauty - for Legolas is beautiful. Like all his kind, I suppose, but he is the only one I've spent any length of time with. It's like looking at one of the statues in Rivendell, but one that moves and breathes. Looking at him makes me feel very small and insignificant, though he'd never mean to; it's just him. He is tall and slender, he has long hair that shines like gold in the sunlight and luminous blue eyes that make me think of the sky; he is graceful and kind-hearted, light-footed and dignified. Legolas is perfect, and he is everything I'm not. I'm just little Pippin, the smallest and least of us; but Legolas speaks kindly to me and treats me as his equal, and that makes me feel as tall as an Elf, as important as a wizard. I should be very proud if by the end of this strange adventure we might perhaps be able to call each other friend. 


End file.
